


Games We Play

by Eline (Sans_Souci)



Category: Enzai: Falsely Accused
Genre: Bondage, Dark, Gunplay, M/M, Non Consensual, Object Insertion, Torture, Violence, Violent Thoughts, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-14
Updated: 2008-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Eline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durer, Vallewida and the games they play. After a promotion, Durer celebrates . . . his way. Reformatted for AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Pornographic, filthy, violent and not recommended for minors or anyone who is easily offended by reading explicit sex scenes. Fortified with crude language and protein-based body fluids for extra strength.

* * * * * * * * * *

The word had spread through the prison like wildfire. The warden was dead.

Even Vallewida, bed-ridden as he was, had heard the news from Evan.

Warden Lambert had died in the line of duty during a particularly violent riot in the outer courtyard. He had been shot in the melee. An unfortunate accident, of course. A prisoner had wrestled a pistol from a guard and fired it before he could be stopped. 

Stopped by Durer. He had to shoot the prisoner before things got out of control. Of course. No one else could dispute this account. The only ones who could were dead.

If the guards walked a little more cautiously . . . if the prisoners seemed a little more grim . . . who was to notice?

In his chilly cell, Vallewida felt the oppressive miasma that hung over the prison thicken as night fell. There was no word for it, that particular dread that pervaded the air. Durer as head jailer was bad news for everyone.

Like the devil summoned from the depths by his name, Durer appeared at Vallewida’s cell door, humming a cheerful tune. 

The cells to either side of Vallewida’s had gone silent, as though the inmates of the prison were collectively holding their breath.

* * * * * * * * * *

Stepping out of the guards’ common room, Durer permitted his cheerful demeanor to slip for a moment. Really, this socialisation business was such a bore . . . But he had to keep up appearances now that father dearest was playing politics.

Durer doubted that he would derive any enjoyment from hanging around a bunch of windy old stuffed shirts. Even his father had to take breaks from the tedium of it all and seek his, ah, pleasures elsewhere. Now that Durer was in charge, father dearest would have more leeway to play with the inmates. Yes, he would make sure that no-one asked too many inconvenient questions . . .

There had been the polite congratulations from his so-called colleagues, but he had seen the wary look in their eyes. They probably suspected something, but without evidence, there was nothing they could do. Then there were the underlings who feared him. Fear was even better than respect.

Here within these walls, there was plenty of material to work with. He could smell the fear in the air--it rose off the prisoners like the rank odour of old sweat as he strolled through the nighttime hallways.

Durer allowed his baton to rattle against the bars as he passed. The way the prisoners cowered away as he passed was immensely cheering. And it was all his to enjoy now . . .

He paused by one particular cell. Well, why not? He would celebrate this night with an old favourite. 

Durer had a whole prison full of fucktoys to play with, but Vallewida was a longstanding constant in his life. Few had held his interest for so long, but Vallewida was just special that way.

Fingering the master key for the cells, he leaned against the bars. “It has been a while, has it not? I haven’t been by since . . . last Thursday.”

In the cell, Vallewida steadfastly ignored him and stared at the ceiling.

“Honestly, that attitude of yours is getting tiring,” Durer said conversationally. “It was amusing for the first few months or so, but after two years it gets a little boring.”

“Although,” he added as though it was an afterthought, “it has been such a _fun_ two years.”

Vallewida turned away, but that movement set off a spate of violent coughs that racked his thin frame.

“Oh, you’re not well, are you?” Durer’s mocking concern was followed by an equally false display of dismay. “We can’t go down to the chambers to play. Such a shame.”

The dim light from the corridor was blocked out for a moment as Durer entered the cell.

“So pale,” he said, reaching out to grasp Vallewida’s chin. “You should take care of yourself.”

Ill as he was, Vallewida still attempted to shrug off his hand.

Durer liked it better when they resisted. Though Vallewida was hardly in any shape to do so. It barely constituted a scuffle as Durer flipped Vallewida over and held him down with a knee planted in the small of his back.

“On the account that you’re not well, I’ll let you stay on the bed,” Durer said magnanimously as he briskly twisted Vallewida’s shirt into makeshift bindings. “There we go . . .”

Vallewida’s token resistance was broken. It was always the same in the end, but Durer liked to spice up the routine with new things.

“Let’s play a game . . .” Durer suggested. “It’s called _Guess What’s In My Hole Now?_ ”

Vallewida struggled futilely as Durer all but tore his trousers off and blindfolded him with a scrap of material. Against Durer’s size and weight, he was powerless to resist as he was pushed facedown into the thin mattress with his hips propped up on his knees. Durer was so close that Vallewida could probably smell the cologne he had worn to his inauguration and the faintest traces of wine on his breath. Durer did not drink in excess because he could think up of much better games when he was sober.

Satisfied with his arrangements, Durer took a moment to appreciate the curve of Vallewida’s ass before probing it with a finger. 

“You can feel this, can’t you?” Another finger wormed its way in despite the resistance from Vallewida. Durer wriggled his fingers and found the spot that would make Vallewida gasp and moan. After so many months, he knew exactly how to humiliate his chosen prey.

But that night Vallewida chose to remain stubbornly silent.

“You’re not playing along . . .” That was as much warning as the little bitch was going to get. Durer removed his fingers roughly and drew his pistol from its holster.  


“Can you guess what this is?”

The metal of the barrel was undoubtedly colder than Durer’s fingers and Vallewida squirmed as it was pressed into him. 

“This was the gun that my dearest predecessor was killed with. He was shot in the head . . . _Bang!_ ” Durer chuckled as Vallewida twitched involuntarily.

“Jumpy today, aren’t you?”

Durer tugged the pistol out of Vallewida and pushed it back in. It had been a present for his promotion earlier that year--not one of those lousy regulation pistols. He had kept the steel of the barrel rust-free and polished the walnut handle every day. Durer could not find a better use for it--after all it had secured his current promotion . . . why not celebrate with it?

“My father gave me this pistol--appropriate, isn’t it? He would appreciate it if he knew that I was fucking you with it now.” 

In and out, in and out--the movement was getting easier as Vallewida’s body adjusted itself unwillingly to the pistol. As his breathing grew more erratic, Durer knew that he was winning out against Vallewida’s stubbornness.

“What if I pulled the trigger?” Durer asked, feeling the shiver that ran through Vallewida’s helpless body.

Sliding his arm around one trembling hip, Durer reached between Vallewida’s thighs and found what he was looking for. “Ahh, see? You’re enjoying it.” Durer ran a hand down the hard length of Vallewida’s engorged penis and smirked at the low moan that issued from Vallewida’s throat.

“Moan like the whore you arem-beg for it,” he whispered as he drove the pistol in deep. Durer could not hear whatever Vallewida was saying, muffled as it was by the mattress. “Louder . . . I can’t hear you!”

And then he pulled the trigger.

The click of the hammer on the flint was loud in the small cell. It was followed by a choked off scream as Vallewida jerked violently in the throes of an orgasm. 

Durer’s laughter rang out triumphantly. He had pocketed the bullet earlier. As much fun as it would have been with a loaded pistol, his dearest father would have been most upset with him. Not to mention the mess that would have resulted if the bullet had exited from Vallewida’s body . . .

Durer licked his lips unconsciously. Those pleasant fantasies would have to wait a while. He yanked the pistol out without ceremony and positioned himself between Vallewida’s spread thighs.

When he sheathed himself inside that quivering flesh, it was like doing it for the first time--Vallewida was so fucking tight. Durer was glad that he had the foresight to let the little bitch heal after all the times his asshole had been torn up. After all, he had two holes to use.

“Aaah, I can feel your greedy little ass swallowing my cock! Show me how much you want it!” He punctuated his demand with a smack to Vallewida’s rump and stopped moving. “Show me how you want to be fucked . . .”

With a moan, Vallewida started to rock back into his cock. His pace increased--faster and harder until Durer could hear the sound of his balls slapping against Vallewida’s ass in time with their rapid breaths. Vallewida looked his best like this--wantonly fucking himself on Durer’s cock, his long hair whipping about in wild abandon.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Durer grabbed Vallewida’s hips and pounded into him brutally. A few hard thrusts and he was spilling his seed deep inside Vallewida.

Breathing deeply to clear his head as he came down from the high of his orgasm, Durer let Vallewida’s body slump forwards onto the cot. From this position, he could admire his handiwork. Vallewida could always be counted on for a good fuck.

But Durer was not done with him yet, no . . .

“Was it good for you?” he asked, nudging the prone form on the bed and undoing the makeshift blindfold

Stripped of the blindfold, Vallewida stared up at him blankly, his pupils wide and dilated.

“ _There_ you are . . .” Durer reached down to gather a fistful of that long silvery hair. “Did you miss me?”

 _This_ Vallewida did not resist him as he was fondled. Admittedly it was not as fun as it was when Vallewida was fighting him, but Durer knew how to amuse himself with his pretty doll.

Durer removed his belt and cracked it a few times. It was one of his more expensive ones--made of good leather and exquisitely supple. He would have to do his best without making Vallewida bleed. Blood was not good for leather-care. 

“Get up--on your hands and knees now!” Durer watched eagerly as his toy presented his ass, still leaking cum and slick with perspiration for his inspection. The next part was almost dreamlike as Durer drew back the belt and landed one blow, then another on Vallewida’s exposed back and hindquarters.

Once he got a good pace going, Durer could wield a lash for a quarter of an hour without pausing for rest. The bright red droplets of blood blooming on Vallewida’s skin finally made him stop. Both of them were breathing hard and Durer could see the minute tremours that shook Vallewida’s tensed arms. And Vallewida was already hard and quietly quivering with something other than pain.

Satisfied with his toy’s obvious state of arousal, Durer looped the soft leather through the buckle to fashion a makeshift a collar and leash. Before Vallewida could even twitch, Durer had the belt looped around his neck.

Vallewida’s eyes bulged as the belt tightened around his throat. Durer took care that the buckle was positioned well away from his victim’s windpipe. It would never do for Vallewida to perish before Bollanet had extracted the information he needed from him. And Durer was ever so glad to assist. It was nice to have a constant fucktoy to come back to after making the rounds of the unwashed and mostly unattractive prison inmates sometimes. Those idiots never knew how to play properly. With Vallewida, Durer knew exactly what games to play.

It helped that Vallewida would get that look on his face. Even when he was thrashing weakly and struggling to breathe, he still looked pretty fuckable.

Durer loosened the belt when Vallewida’s face was almost purple and sat back as his prisoner started frantically taking in huge gulps of air. It would ruin his evening if Vallewida passed out so soon--he had other things planned.

While Vallewida was recovering on the floor, Durer took strips of material from what was left of his clothing and strapped his baton to the chair leg.

Taking up the belt again, he dragged Vallewida to the chair and ripped off the bonds that held his arms behind his back. 

“Fuck yourself on it,” he ordered. “I want to watch!”

Docile as a lamb, Vallewida compiled. The baton was almost two inches in width and his cum was hardly adequate lubrication. Durer was honestly not expecting Vallewida to succeed. He was slightly surprised when Vallewida lowered his body over the baton and continued pushing himself downwards, finally impaling his welted ass on the wooden shaft. 

“Uhnn . . .”

Durer watched in fascination as the ring of muscle stretched out around the polished wood of his baton. He could feel the raw desire grow within him again as he watched Vallewida take in another inch of the baton.

“You’re taking it in!” Durer exclaimed. “You little whore . . . Go on--fuck the stick! Up! Then down!”

“Uhh . . . uhh . . .” Vallewida panted shallowly as he fucked the baton.

“Are you getting off on it? Oh, I think you are . . . Fuck it faster!” 

If Vallewida felt any pain at that time, it was matched in equal part by blind lust. A thin string of saliva leaked out of thekcorner of his mouth as he drove himself down on the baton. It was utterly disgusting and Durer almost came at the sight.

“Touch yourself!” he said, watching Vallewida’s every reaction carefully. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes . . .”

Eyes glazed over with desire, Vallewida started to stroke himself, working up a kind of rhythm in time to his frantic fucking.

Grinning to himself, Durer tightened the belt slowly. It took a certain amount of skill to do it so that the prisoner did not die of asphyxiation. Durer had experimented a few times to gain that particular skill. On other people, of course. Applied properly, this technique co5ld have the most . . . _interesting_ effects.

Vallewida gasped for air as the belt tightened around his throat again, but his pace did not lessen. In fact, he seemed to be speeding up.

“Does that feel good? I bet it does,” Durer murmured, moving behind Vallewida and gathering his long hair up in the same hand that held the belt. He could not tell if Vallewida was nodding or not--he was bobbing up and down so fast.

“You’ll never feel like this with anyone else!” Durer hissed into Vallewida’s ear, giving the fistful of hair a vicious tug. It was like this sometimes--when his possessive side seemed to be in control. He seized one pert nipple and twisted. “No-one else does this to you!”

Mouth agape and eyes rolling back into his head, Vallewida bucked under his hands and climaxed messily. Durer released his hold on the belt and watched in delight as Vallewida twitched and thrashed his way through what was probably the most explosive orgasms in his life.

Utterly spent, Vallewida’s legs could not hold him up anymore and he toppled to the floor, the baton slipping out of his hole. 

Satisfied with the night’s entertainment, Durer lounged on the bed, resisting the urge to touch himself despite the fact that he was more than ready. He could delay his own gratification . . . for a while.

“Oi, how long are you going to lie there?” Durer asked. “When are you going to thank your master?”

At his words, Vallewida stirred and slowly righted himself. “Yes, of course . . .”

The former soldier made an arresting sight as he crawled across the floor to where Durer sat. Smirking, Durer opened his legs. Like the well-trained bitch that he was, Vallewida undid the fly of his trousers and got to work on Durer’s already hardened dick.

“That’s it,” he sighed as Vallewida took him in deep. “Aren’t you grateful to you master?”

Vallewida nodded around a mouthful of cock and continued sucking.

He had every right to be grateful. Durer might have left him to die that night. And his death would be classified as a suicide.

Tilting his head back, Durer savoured the sensation of that warm, wet mouth on him. He had time to play after all. It was going to be a long night, but he could declare a day off for himself tomorrow and he could think of no better way to spend his time.

It was good to be in charge.

* * * * * * * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> \- Shameless self-promotion: The events referred to in “Divinely Profane” and “Our Truth” have now been expanded upon to give seven-and-a-half pages of torture-porn. Namely Durer’s promotion to head-jailer/warden and the reason for Vallewida being unable to walk for a week.
> 
> \- Yes, I did realise that I originally posted this on Valentine’s Day.


End file.
